Between A Rock And A Hard Place
by SherlockIsMyHolmesBoy
Summary: Solving crimes is a thrill, except when you have to watch your best friend almost get killed on multiple occasions. John struggles to make Sherlock understand why this would be difficult for him, whilst also trying to deal with explaining a friendship to someone when you're trying to stay the strong army type. Not too fluffy, but true friendship.
1. Chapter 1

"See, John, didn't I tell you I'd be fine?" Sherlock opened the front door of the flat and briskly ran up the stairs.

"Sherlock, look at you, you're covered in blood..." John followed him through the door, covered in mud. "You need to let me look at that cut on your face, Sherlock..." as he followed Sherlock up the stairs the door to Mrs Hudson's flat opened.

"Boys...boys what on earth have you been up to? Look at the state of you..." she caught a glimpse of Sherlock before he flew through the living room door. "Sherlock! What have you done to yourself? You're bleeding!"

"I'm fine thank you Mrs Hudson" Sherlock opened the bathroom cabinet and pulled various bottles out until he found a very old bottle of antiseptic. He applied it to his face, wincing slightly as he did so.

"Sherlock, what are you doing? That stuff is ancient you can't use that..." John went to take the bottle from Sherlock but he pulled away before he could grasp it.

"I'm fine, thank you!" Sherlock slammed the cabinet shut and pushed past John out of the bathroom, where he nearly ran into Mrs Hudson. "I AM FINE THANK YOU MRS HUDSON!" She looked slightly taken aback, but she was used to Sherlock's outbursts and had learned not to take them to heart.

"Ok ok, I'll leave you to it...just don't bleed all over the flat or it'll be added onto your rent this month..." she left the flat and walked back downstairs.

"Good because I'm thinking." Sherlock took to his usual place lying across the sofa, hands in a prayer position beneath his chin. He closed his eyes. "John?" he said. No response. "John? Are you there?" He opened his eyes. The room was dark. Apparently he had been thinking a lot, as hours had passed and John had gone to bed.

* * *

The morning light spilled through the living room curtains as Sherlock, in his favourite blue silk dressing gown, stirred a cup of coffee. He had retired to bed at about 3am after spending a lot of time thinking over the problems of yesterday, and as it was now 7am he felt he'd definitely had enough rest and his brain needed to be started again. He sipped his coffee and went searching through the piles of papers and various odds and ends on the dining room tables to find a box of nicotine patches. Coffee and nicotine in the morning, the perfect way to get things up and running. He pulled open the curtains with a flourish and let the early morning sunlight flood the flat. He sat himself in an armchair and looked out the window as he sipped his coffee. After a while he heard a shuffling coming from behind him.

"Sherlock, how do you survive on so little sleep?" John's groggy sleep-filled voice.

"I have enough sleep to provide me with energy for the following day. I do not understand how people sleep for pleasure, it seems so wasteful and unnecessary."

"Speak for yourself." Sherlock turned round in his chair to see John in pajama bottoms and a t-shirt with one hand trying to tame his hair and the other rubbing sleep out of his eyes. He sprung out of his chair.

"Right. I'm going out. I've worked out where we need to be and I want to get a head start on it this morning." He looked at John with bright eyes. "I hope you're ready to work late tonight, this could be a long day..." Sherlock bounced off into his room to change and John just rubbed his eyes. He could not understand how Sherlock's energy reserves worked but he wished he could work it out.

* * *

Sherlock sat in the arm chair in the living room, hair wet, coat still on, hands pressed together in their signature pose. The rain lashed down outside and he could still feel the remains of the outside chill on his skin, although he wasn't aware of it. The flat was silent, until the sound of the front door crashing open and footsteps running up the stairs. Sherlock didn't even flinch. As the footsteps got closer he took a deep breath. He knew what was coming.

The front door of the flat opened and John ran inside, soaked through and eyes wild.

"SHERLOCK? HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN HERE? I HAD NO IDEA WHERE YOU WERE, YOU DISAPPEARED, YOU COULD HAVE BEEN..." John didn't finish his sentence. He just paced up and down the room. "Every time, every time we have to run, we have to escape, something happens and you get hurt or you get put into danger and you nearly get killed and one day, one day you won't get out."

Sherlock didn't move, but flicked his eyes from their position fixed on the floor up to John's face. He said nothing.

"I've watched people get killed, Sherlock, people I know, people I care about, I've watched them get killed. I am done with watching people I care about get killed."

"You wanted the excitement" Sherlock said quietly, hands still pressed together.

"EXCITEMENT? Yes excitement but I cannot watch...I can't spend time wondering if you're..." he continued pacing and put a hand to his forehead.

"We all have to die sometime." Sherlock said, still looking at John. John stopped pacing and turned to face him.

"I...I am going to pretend you did not just say that, and then I am going to leave." John said quietly. And which point he turned and walked out the door. Sherlock heard his footsteps disappear down the stairs and the front door slam.

He still hadn't moved.


	2. Chapter 2

"John? John!" Sherlock rushed up the stairs to the flat and threw open the living room door. "John? John there's been a major break through in the case, you need to come with me!" He flew into the kitchen, the living room, looked round the door the John's room. No-one. "John?" Sherlock stopped in the middle of the living room, looking round. No-one had been into the flat since Sherlock had left it that morning. Although he'd been vaguely aware that John wasn't around that morning, he'd been so preoccupied with getting back onto the case that he hadn't really thought about it in detail.

He pulled his thoughts from the case and onto the evidence in front of him. He walked back towards John's bedroom and stood in the open doorway. The bed had been made but not slept in. Everything of John's was still there, the book he'd been reading, his post he'd picked up the previous morning, the water glass hadn't been drunk from in over 24 hours. John hadn't been back to the flat since he'd left the previous night. Sherlock walked back into the living room and sat in the armchair. He pulled his mobile from his pocket.

**John, you need to see this case. - SH**

He looked at his phone for a few seconds, then put it back in his pocket and left the flat, mind firmly back on the case.

* * *

John waited at the end of the road until he saw the figure leave the flat, hail a cab and disappear in the other direction. He knew Sherlock had worked out something was wrong. Having felt his mobile vibrate in his pocket while Sherlock was in the flat, he hadn't yet looked at it but knew who it was from.

As he slowly moved towards the flat he half expected Sherlock to step out of the shadows where he was waiting for him. John had already learned not to trust his own eyes when it came to his friend. He got to the front door, looked around and walked inside. Hurrying up the stairs he pushed open the front door to the flat and walked straight through into his bedroom. It took him less than five minutes to grab a bag, throw some belongings into it and leave again.

* * *

**John I've figured it out. It took a while but I got it, you need to see this. - SH**

**Did you see the papers this morning? We can't leave this one, have a look. - SH**

Sherlock was beginning to get worried. Which was unlike him. People arrived and people left, it was part of life, he had other things to occupy himself with. But for some reason he could not shake the fact that he hadn't seen John for two days. When he had arrived home again the previous day he could immediately see that John had been there, almost at exactly the same time he had. John must have seen him, in fact he must have waited for him to leave before he came in.

"Why would he do that?" he said to himself as he paced the living room, wearing pajamas and his blue dressing gown. This was getting annoying. His worries about John were beginning to preoccupy him from work, and that was just not practical. He couldn't afford to have his brain space taken up by thoughts of people, it was really just getting in the way. Something had to be done about it. Sherlock walked into John's room and started opening cupboards. He'd taken the large backpack he owned, that meant he intended to stay away for some time. He'd only taken the trainers he usually wore, his other shoes still sat at the bottom of the wardrobe. The book from his bedside table was gone. Sherlock estimated that John could be gone for a couple of weeks with the stuff he had, and that if he intended to be gone for longer he'd have to come back for the rest of his belongings. But a couple of weeks. Sherlock couldn't have this preoccupying his mind for weeks, he needed this sorted out soon.


	3. Chapter 3

John lay in bed in Sarah's flat. The place was quiet - she was out at work. He hadn't really felt like doing much over the last couple of days. There was no work available for him, and he wasn't doing his usual daily routine of flying round the streets of London with Sherlock so there wasn't much else to do. John wanted to tell himself that he liked the peace and quiet for a change, but he wouldn't believe himself when he said it. His phone beeped next to the bed. He sighed. Sherlock hadn't sent him any messages for a day or so but every time it beeped he thought it was probably him. That made trying to ignore him even more difficult.

**He "misses" you, you know. - MH**

John blinked at his phone. Now Sherlock was getting his brother to do his dirty work for him. Marvellous. He'd have the whole Holmes family onto him eventually and all he wanted was for them to leave him alone. He replaced the phone on his bedside table and ignored the message. three minutes later, the phone beeped again.

**Sherlock Holmes does not "miss" people. But he "misses" you. You're turning my brother soft, Doctor Watson. - MH**

"What the hell?" John sat up in bed. If this was supposed to inspire guilt in him it was doing a very bad job. If anything it was making him feel uncomfortable. He got out of bed and went into the kitchen to make coffee for himself. Mycroft talking about feelings was very odd. Mycroft talking about Sherlock's feelings was downright weird.

* * *

John wandered slowly past the lake in the park. A small group of children stood huddled together on the bank throwing bread to the ducks and giggling. The sun was slowly disappearing over the horizon and although it was definitely chilly, the evening air was crisp and bright. After being stuck in the flat all day, John had needed to clear his head and get some fresh air.

He was so preoccupied looking at the lake that he didn't notice anyone else until a voice made him jump.

"You're not currently working so you have no reason to get up early. I know you're not a morning person so you're unlikely to leave the flat before midday. It's a nice evening, people like to go on walks on beautiful evenings like this. This is the nearest park to Sarah's flat which is the only place available to you where you could stay for a significant period of time on such short notice. You like to eat dinner late so if you came for a walk it would be before you got hungry." John stopped walking and turned to where the voice was coming from. A tall figure wearing a black coat sat on one of the benches on the other side of the path. "Thus putting Doctor John Watson in this park at this time."

"Sherlock."

"Yes. I am."

John was surprised that he didn't feel angry with Sherlock. He thought he'd want to walk off and leave him but actually, he didn't want to do that at all. He walked over to the bench at sat down. Both men watched the ducks for a minute or two.

"Mycroft said you missed me"

"I don't miss people."

"I know."

"But he wasn't wrong."

John turned to look at Sherlock in surprise. "Excuse me."

"I said," Sherlock replied looking back at John "that he wasn't factually incorrect. I believe a preoccupying thought of a person who leaves one's life is indeed the act of missing someone."

"Well when you put it so nicely..."

"But I am also correct in saying I don't miss people so please believe me that my surprise is just as great as your own."

"Wow Sherlock, with lines like that no wonder you're a hit with all the ladies..."

"John, I do believe that we're missing the point of the conversation. You left the flat two days ago and haven't returned." John said nothing in reply. "I understand what you said to me before you left and I realize the sentiment you expressed but I cannot confess to understanding it."

John stood up. "Now I remember why. Sherlock you're completely insufferable..."

"But, please answer me this. If you confess to miss me so much if I died then why leave? That doesn't strike me a particularly logical."

John sat back on the bench and sighed. He was really bad at putting thoughts like this into words. He was really bad at this whole "feelings" thing but compared to Sherlock he was an expert. He took another deep breath, trying to rid himself of the uncomfortable feeling he always got when he was trying to express himself.

"I...felt that, if I just stopped seeing you put yourself in danger, it would mean I didn't have to worry. I'd be able to ignore it, and get on with my life, and not have to see you nearly get killed."

"How would you not being there stop me dying?"

John sighed in exasperation. Sherlock was not getting it. "It wouldn't..."

"So I'd die anyway how do your actions resolve anything?"

"Because I wouldn't have to stand there and watch my best friend die. I'd get a phone call or something and it would happen away from me and I wouldn't have to watch it happen or know that I could have done something about it." John's outburst startled them both.

"I don't have friends..."

"Sherlock, I swear to god..." John's frustrations were growing and he was about to walk off.

"...but, I did miss you. And I need you on this case. And you're good company."

"Oh good, I'm a laugh to have around. That's a perfectly good reason for me to spend my time worrying that I'm going to see someone else I care about shot in the head." He stood up and walked away.


	4. Chapter 4

"John, if you can pick up milk today that would be very helpful!" Sarah ran round the flat trying to gather her belongings before she went off to work. "And you really need to stop sitting in my flat all day like you're getting over a break-up."

"I'm NOT getting over a break-up!" John shouted back. Sarah put her head around the door.

"Coulda fooled me. Get up, go and do things, please make up with your friend, stop acting like a child and GET MILK!" She smiled. "I'll be home for dinner. Bye!" John heard the front door slam. He went to reach for the tv remote control but as he did so the front door buzzer rang.

"Forgotten your keys again Sarah?" He shouted as he went to open the front door. There was no-one there. Instead there was a car pulled up at the side of the road with the rear door open. Sitting inside the car was Mycroft. John rolled his eyes.

"No" he said as he began to close the door.

"John!" Mycroft shouted. Get in the car please.

"No." John replied.

"You two are acting like petulant children now please just get in the car!"

"I'm in my pajamas, Mycroft."

"That really doesn't matter I'm not taking you to see the Queen."

John sighed, grabbed his keys from the table, shut the front door behind him and got into the car.

* * *

"Spoiled children, you two are acting like spoiled children." Mycroft hadn't said anything for a few minutes so this comment made John jump.

"Says the man who's running errands for his brother."

"I am not running an errand for him, Sherlock does not know I'm here, I'm merely trying to sort out a stupid petty spat before it affects his work too much."

"His work?"

"He misses you, John. For Sherlock that means his mind is not on the case because there's a piece missing. He is not operating at full capacity."

"You Holmes boys really know how to make a person feel special."

"John, I do not understand emotional professions of friendship and adoration and attachments and neither does Sherlock. However that does not mean that we don't have the capability to feel anything at all. You misunderstand the difference of showing an affection towards someone and feeling one. Sherlock and I both feel that the emotional attachments people form to one another get in the way of more vital preoccupations but, John, that does not mean that I do not love my brother."

John looked at Mycroft, for once stunned into silence.

"People have this odd, over dramatic way of professing feeling to one another." Mycroft said "feeling" as though it disgusted him. "They make dramatic declarations of love and friendship, they have arguments and they enact tearful reunions which are a waste of time and energy. Sherlock and I, we do not do that. Practicality is the primary focus of our lives and allowing our emotions to get in the way would be a disaster."

"Yes. I know. I'm like a helpful puppy for Sherlock, apparently."

"John, you do not seem to grasp the fact that Sherlock seems to need you around him. I do not understand it myself but I can appreciate your concern for your own emotional welfare in a partnership with my brother. John, do not expect Sherlock to express this to you himself but I can guarantee that he has a similar outlook to his partnership with you."

John processed that for a moment. "He worries about me?"

"Yes. He does, John. He has concern for you just as much. However he does not allow it to get in the way. That's not how he works."

John didn't reply.

"I am an observant man, Doctor Watson. I do not claim to understand the emotional attachments people form to one another but I'm capable of observing them when they're there. I'm more than aware of the amount of affection you have for my brother..."

"PLATONIC affection, thank you..." John interrupted.

"Why do people spend so much time trying to differentiate between romantic love and friendship, it seems so petty. I understand John, I know you have a lot of platonic affection for my brother and I know my brother well enough to tell you that he holds as much affection for you."

John felt uncomfortable. He really hadn't thought about a relationship with a friend in this much depth before. The car stopped. John looked outside and realised they were back outside his flat. They had gone in a complete circle.

"Doctor Watson, my brother loves me as I am his brother. He also loves you, as you are also his brother. Now if both of you could stop acting like children it would make my life so much easier. Goodbye John." The conversation was over. John opened the car door and stepped out. As soon as he closed the door again the car sped away, leaving him on the pavement wearing his pajamas.

* * *

Sherlock closed the paper and stretched out his long legs. John walked in from the kitchen and handed him a cup of coffee. When John had arrived back at the flat the previous evening, both men had continued on as though nothing had gone awry. They both had a mutual understanding that it was the best option.

"Thank you, John."

Both men sipped their coffee in silence.

"I hear Mycroft spoke with you yesterday." It was the first mention either of them had made with regards to what had happened.

"Yes." John replied, waiting to see where this conversational trail was heading. Sherlock simply nodded his head.

"I'll never understand my brother, why he interferes so much."

"Mycroft cares about you."

"Yes." Sherlock said. He stared out the window "That's what brothers are there for."

Neither man looked at the other. Both were smiling.


End file.
